Momentary
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Soji's still grimacing in the first flash of hurt when he looks sideways and sees Hijikata." Soji and Hijikata pass out together, but Soji wakes up first.


Reality comes back to Soji in a rush.

It went out slowly, the light of consciousness fading out into darkness until Soji wasn't sure if he really felt the warmth of fingers pressing against his before awareness left him. But when his eyes come back open it hits him in a moment, in the space between one breath and the next so he tries to force himself upright with reckless haste. He's moving before he's remembered why he shouldn't, torn open the fragile clotting across his stomach so he hisses in pain, so one hand comes in instinctively to hover just shy of contact with the aching injury.

He's still grimacing in the first flash of hurt when he looks sideways and sees Hijikata.

The other man's hand is still thrown out towards where Soji fell, his fingers unmoving and so still Soji's breath catches in his chest and any thought for his own pain evaporates. He reaches out, blindly seeking reassurance in the form of living warmth under his fingertips, but his motion stalls, his hand just shy of contact with Hijikata's skin and the action frozen with horror of what he might find in place of what he hopes.

"Hijikata-san," he says instead, his voice so soft with fright he can barely hear it himself. He coughs, snatches his hand back and fixes his eyes on Hijikata's shoulders, waits for the motion of breathing, carefully watches the expanse of skin instead of the pool of red under him (is it spreading? how much of that is Hijikata's and how much Soji's own?). "Hijikata-san." It's louder, this time, but there's still no movement, of response or of breathing, at least not that Soji can see.

"_Hijikata-san_." He sounds angry, now, that comes out as a shout, and this time when he reaches for skin his fingers close on Hijikata's shoulder. "You can't." That's better, hot with anger like his face is going hot even though his throat is drawing tight until he can't get a breath. "You can't leave me alone." He's shaking, roughing dragging at Hijikata's shoulder, and Soji must be the one doing that but it feels like he's clinging to the other, desperate for stability he has never thought about until it's gone and only feeling uncontrollable trembling in response.

"Not you too," a voice is saying, Soji's throat is humming with tension and panic and sound he doesn't even intend. His inhale sounds like tears even though he's not crying, his exhale catches into a choking laugh. "No, you can't." He chokes, words aren't coming, his vision is blurring out of any focus. "Hijikata-san?" That's weird, high and childish like he's aging in reverse, like the damp clinging warm to his cheeks is melting him backwards in time to the last time he thought he was truly alone. He's leaning in, his fingers are clenching too tight and Hijikata's not moving, Soji can't see past the tears catching heavy at his eyelashes and then his head is landing against his fingers, his tears are splashing hot across Hijikata's skin.

He tries to speak again, tries to form his voice around Hijikata's name one more time, around one more desperate plea. But his body won't obey him, his fingers and his voice are both acting independently of his intention, and all he ends up doing is sobbing, a horrible broken wail tearing hoarse from his well-trained vocal chords so he can hear the animal terror under the sound.

"Soji."

For a breath Soji doesn't even process the sound of his own name. It takes him a moment to recognize it as his, another to realize that someone other than him is saying it, yet another before he lifts his head in a flash of shock. Hijikata's shifting, pushing himself up with one arm and starting to roll over, but Soji doesn't let his hold go, keeps his fingers locked more from shock than intention. The movement twists his wrist sharply, drags him forward so Hijikata's shoulder digs into his collarbone.

"Soji?" Hijikata's sitting up, he's blinking and breathing and speaking, his hand is coming up to touch Soji's shoulder. Soji doesn't even care that his fingers are painted liquid red; the contact is warm, comforting and steady and impossibly reassuring in the proof of existence it offers.

It doesn't make sense that Soji's next inhale is still a sob. It doesn't make sense that he starts to shake harder, that what strength is left in his limbs fails to send him sliding forward to wail into Hijikata's shoulder. But he can feel Hijikata's huffed laugh, and a hand comes in to tangle into his hair, and when Hijikata's lips press a kiss against the edge of his forehead Soji feels like he can breathe again.


End file.
